No Sudden Revelations
by a.lakewood
Summary: A day in the life: Abandon All Hope from Jo's perspective.


**Title: no sudden revelations  
Author: alakewood  
Warnings: **Very major spoilers for _Abandon All Hope__**.**_ Some dialogue quoted verbatim. And a spoiler for _Born Under a Bad Sign._  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Word** **Count**: ~1900  
**Summary**: _Abandon All Hope_ from Jo's perspective; a day in the life.  
**Disclaimer**: As always, I own nothing.

**oxoxo**

There were a lot of ways that I imagined dying. But, somehow, this one never made the list. Mauled by invisible Hell-bitch. What a way to go – I literally didn't even see it coming.

Dean and Sam are across the room talking plans in hushed voices – they want to move me, but I know...I know they can't. I can't move my legs, can't even wiggle a toe. I take quick stock of my surroundings, take a shallow breath of coppery-scented air, and know that this is the last place I will ever see. I stop their discussion and tell them as much: "We've gotta get our priorities straight here." I feel a damp heat under my cold fingers and realize that blood has again seeped through the bandage I've been holding against the wound on my stomach. "I'm not going anywhere."

And my mother immediately disagrees.

I explain all the reasons I can't leave and explain the one reason why I must stay. It's clear I've got the only good plan – the only plan _period_ - and they all know it, even if they don't want to believe it.

Mom's near tears. "I won't-I won't let you." I've never seen her like this before and I know that I'm breaking her heart. She wants me to fight, but I've already lost this battle.

"This is why we're here, right? If I could get us a shot at the devil..." It takes a little more effort to shift my gaze up to Dean's face. "Dean, we have to take it."

She's falling apart, my mother. Pleas to Dean and Sam.

"Mom...this might _literally_ be your last chance to treat me like an adult. You might want to take it."

She pulls it together or masks it with denial and smiles at me. But her eyes are still sad as she looks at me. "You heard her," she tells the boys. "Get to work."

There's a flurry of activity as they move around the hardware store looking for supplies for the bomb, and I'm left to myself, to think, and, clutching a fresh bandage to my bleeding wound, I try to remember how it all came down to this.

**oxo**

My morning started like many a-Sunday's, post-hunt: with a hangover and a hint of regret. _Self-respect,_ I thought as I rolled out of my borrowed bed in Bobby's house, in the bedroom right next to the one Sam and Dean share. I remember, after falling asleep, pressing a palm to the faded wallpaper, fingers splayed, and imagining Dean doing the exact same thing in the other room, like star-crossed lovers would in some stupid chick-flick. But romance isn't written in our cards, at least not today.

I tried to ignore the pulsing in my head as I stood, something heavier and sharper than nausea settling in my stomach as I entered the hall. It was like smelling electricity and ozone before you ever saw the storm.

But I got dressed and got ready just like everybody else, chalked up my strange sense of foreboding as some new kind of pre-hunt anxiety – it's not like you go up against Lucifer everyday – and met Mom in the kitchen for coffee and a quick breakfast before we loaded into the Bronco with Castiel and Dean and Sam took to the Impala.

**X**

Carthage was nearly a seven hour drive, the dread in my stomach strengthening with the passing miles, setting me on edge. The car ride was silent, Castiel like a statue in the backseat, my mother unnaturally quiet. Castiel's words from the previous night echoed in my mind: "_Tomorrow we hunt the devil. This is our last night on earth."_ I couldn't help but feel that he was right, that somebody wasn't coming back from this one.

We split up when we got into town, Castiel breaking of from me and Mom when he saw the street filled with reapers. Not long after we caught up with Dean and Sam and started looking for Castiel, we were intercepted by Meg, with whom I've only had a brief, yet highly unpleasant, meeting while she was possessing Sam. She had a message and she wasn't alone.

Hellhounds. I could hear them snarling. We were surrounded. And, of course, true to Winchester nature to never back down from a fight, Dean wasn't going to do anything the easy way and fired a quick shot at nothing that miraculously struck one of the hounds, dark blood spurting. Winged the creature but didn't kill it and it gave chase. I glanced over my shoulder as we were running, watched Dean all but tackled from behind, flying to the asphalt as the hound took him down. Dean was yelling at me to stay back, but how was I supposed to leave him behind? I fired my shotgun once, twice, three times, four. Then I sensed it behind me, split seconds before my mother was screaming, "_No!"_

Then claws and a searing, ripping pain as the hound tore open my stomach. And everything happened so fast after than. Dean was suddenly there and I was in his arms and he was carrying me away and into a hardware store. Even above the noise of the hounds barking outside and Dean's heavy footsteps, I could hear the spattering of my blood on the tile – not just dripping, but nearly like it's pouring.

Carefully, Dean set me on the floor, propped up against the counter that holds the register, then he was gone, replaced by my mother. I could feel blood sliding down my chin, collecting in a thin rivulet before it started down my neck. Through the haze of pain I was aware of Dean and Sam working to lay salt lines at the windows and doors, then they gathered around me. Judging by the looks on their faces, it wasn't good. Mom pulled my hand away from my wound and I could feel the heat of my blood spilling over my fingers. It _hurts._ And I'm so _tired._

Mom got me bandaged with Sam's help while Dean set up a CB to talk to Bobby. The minutes blurred as I focused on breathing shallow, Dean and Sam's discussion of how best to get me out prompting me to intervene.

**oxo**

The buckets are set and Sam's sitting with me, holding my hand, while Dean lays the wire. Sam stands as Dean nears and crouches beside me. "This is it. I'll see you on the other side? Probably sooner than later."

I pull my shotgun out from beneath my thigh and hold it out to him. "Make it later."

He presses the modified-doorbell detonator into my hand and holds it between both of his. The brave facade disappears and he's looking at me like he's never looked at me before, offers me a fleeting, wavering smile before he surges in like the tide, pressing a kiss to my forehead, his gentle hands threaded in my hair, fingers brushing lightly at the nape of my neck and he just holds me there. He ebbs and surges forward again, cresting and softly falling on my mouth, more tender than I ever could have imagined.

Our first kiss is our last goodbye. And trust me when I say that goodbyes don't get more final than this. I've never felt so much as I have in these bittersweet minutes - and such conflicting emotions, too. The pain and peace of dying, utter sadness and joy in this brief moment with Dean. Fear and hope - so much hope that my death will have had a _purpose_, that it will have meant something. But I'm a realist as much as I"m a hunter. There is but a small victory in my death - saving Dean was all that mattered. No one - except my mother, Dean, Sam, and Bobby - will remember or know the sacrifice I made. No matter how unintentional it was.

Dean abruptly stands, tears in his eyes, and my mother is beside me once again. We've been hunting together for a few years now and I know what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth, and something catches in my chest. "Mom. No."

But there's no arguing with Ellen Harvelle. 'Mother knows best' and all that. "Somebody's gotta let 'em in," she says. "And like you said, you're not movin'. You got me, Jo." She'd risk anything for me and she's willing to prove it no matter how much I don't need her to. But she's right. I can't do it by myself. "You're right," she continues. "This is important. But I will not leave you alone."

It's obvious that Sam wants to argue the point but he should know better by now.

"Get goin'. Now, boys."

But Dean sees things the same was as his brother and questions her. My mother is stubborn and her mind's decided.

"I said go. And Dean?" She stops him as they head for the back. I can't look at him. Won't. "Kick it in the ass. Don't miss." Even if her tone is slightly joking, she's not kidding. For all that's being sacrificed, for what's on the line – it's not like Dean is unaware of the burden he carries on his shoulders, but Mom seems to need to make _certain_ he doesn't forget that it's there.

Without a goodbye, they're gone and barely a minute's even passed before the hounds are at the door, making the blinds rattle against the glass. Mom leaves my side to go to the door. She unwraps the heavy chain from the handles and tosses it aside before breaking the salt line with a couple sweeps of her boot. She slowly walks back towards where I'm slouched, turning on the propane tanks as she nears the counter. She sits beside me and wraps an arm around my shoulders. If it wasn't for the numbing cold I feel, this would be nice. If we weren't about to set off a bomb, killing ourselves in the process...

She curls a strong hand around my limp one, loosely clutching the detonator. I wanted so badly to be the one to press that button – an eye for an eye, you know? - but I can't do it no matter how much I want to.

"I will always love you, baby," I faintly hear and try to tell her I love her, too, but I'm already slipping into a comfortable nothingness.

I've heard that people who have had near-death experiences say they saw their whole life flash before their eyes as they were about to die, and thank God dying isn't quite as clichéd as some make it out to be. My life didn't _flash before my eyes_ - or, maybe it did. All I see as the light fades away into a welcoming darkness that takes hold of me is Dean's face, permanently burned in my mind, that look in his eyes that said he was already grieving me, that said he _loved_ me, even if he never found the words to say it.

I can't move, not even to breathe, and there's a hellhound right _there_, growling. Dean's face in my mind, all the emotions he put into that kiss in my heart as it slows, slows, slows, and...

Darkness.


End file.
